Foggy head. A struggle to focus. Dreadful body pain. A stagnation of progress. Complacency to exist. A sadness so very deep.

My heart, heavy with memories of waking up in a hospital room, holes in my physical body and holes in my soul. Uncertain how I was going to ‘show up’ for what followed. Uncertain if I would survive it even if I did. 

And here I am, surviving. Grateful, though brutally scarred.

*Post 888

9/9/17 :: Post 9 :: The Strange Tensions

As I sit here in my hospital room, in the quiet, my head is processing so much. I find myself in some very interesting tensions…

My heart is so heavy. And yet so grateful. Heavy with the loss of a big part of my body. I look down and nothing but flatness and sutures are there. The reality is intensely painful. And yet I am so grateful the tumors are out and I’m one step closer to being better. 

I want to leave the hospital and see my girls and be home. But I want to stay because I’m not ready to face life as it is as I will not be able to return as I was. 

I’m in a lot of physical pain which is just a constant reminder of my new reality. And I know there is more loss ahead. Yet I feel hope that I will see the end and be able to look back. 

I love these leg compressors and will miss them when I’m home….but the bed and the gown and the ordeal it is to go to the bathroom…….I will not miss. Nor the IV. That, I am so ready to be out. 

I love getting checked on by sweet nurses and medical staff and yet every time someone comes in they have to look me over, touch me more, and empty drains (ewww). And I have to have 4 drains when I was just wanting 2. 🙁

I’m devastated they found cancer in some of my lymph nodes, and I guess the cancer was really close to my skin so both of those things may guarantee radiation after chemo….which means an even longer road to healing. And my surgeon was guessing I’ll be Stage 3 due to the size of the tumors and lymph node involvement but we won’t know for sure until final pathology results come back. And yet, I’m so grateful there is treatment to make me better even with more loss. 

I am in this place of surreal but real still. Even though I can look down and see nothing there I cannot seem to truly accept this reality. 

I miss what was but I know what is to be will be significant. 

I’m thankful I came through surgery well and that every time I’m checked on I hear “you’re doing so great” or “this is good”. But again, I’m here at the hospital after a major surgery that I, myself, has yet been able to truly acknowledge as real. 

This is hard. So so deep-to-the-core hard. 

9/9/18 :: Post 360 :: Right Where I Am

Full week ahead.

Chemo tomorrow. Gynecological Oncologist on Tuesday. Acupuncture on Wednesday. A hair appointment on Thursday.

House stuff every day. Sports stuff every day. Work (and being late or leaving early) every day.

The unknowns. The darkness. The busy-ness. The overwhelmedness. The hardness.

I’m grateful I won’t walk into each day alone. And I’m grateful all I need to focus on will be right where I am. 

9/9/19 :: Post 725 :: What They Don’t Tell You. Because They Can’t.

After I posted last night and settled in to try and sleep, I found myself unable to. My body ached in ways I hadn’t felt in a good long while. My head was pounding with the pain of crying.

I tossed and turned for what seemed to be an eternity. I couldn’t get comfortable. I couldn’t settle. I couldn’t quiet the aches and pains. 

And it got worse. And worse.

And then I broke. I trembled and shook and sobbed uncontrollably. Chris woke up and pulled me close and held me as I mourned. He asked what hurt in hopes to help me fix it and the only words I could muster were, “my heart.” Even though my head and my body were also screaming in pain, my heart was what was experiencing desperate agony.

This was either a pure coincidence that I just felt sad on the anniversary of my mastectomies or once again, my body responded to this trauma by remembering and reliving the soul-crushing pain of the night after surgery and the many days and weeks that followed. And I also think this was a full-on anxiety attack. I don’t feel like I have encountered many (if at all) of those in my life but last night, in addition to the intense heart break I was feeling, there was something else completely out of control. I wanted out, I wanted to rip my own skin off, I wanted to jump-ship and escape my own body. The bodysuit, the pain, the story. I was frantic for relief. 

I couldn’t take it any longer… I peeled myself out of this bodysuit and sat in the shower for a long time, tears mixing with the water as they continued to stream down my face. And then I went quiet. My body settled, my heart calmed and the tears stopped. 

I got out, put on my robe, threw up and climbed back into bed, sans bodysuit, and slowly drifted away into quiet sleep. 

They don’t tell me about these things in survivorship. I can understand why, but man, being blindsided by these recent upheavals has been rough. …..The story keeps going and so much more will be survived.